Blame It On The Weather
by yodeladyhoo
Summary: COMPLETE ONESHOT. Ah, Spring! When a young girl's thoughts turn to love and a Goblin King's thoughts turn to...


**Title:** Blame It On The Weather

**Author:** Yodeladyhoo

**Summary:** Sarah wants a second chance with Jareth, but is the timing right?

**Genre:** Fantasy

**Pairings:** Jareth & Sarah

**Rating:** T

**disclaimer **(dĭs-klā'mər):noun

**1.** (law) a voluntary repudiation of a person's legal claim to something

**2.** denial of any connection with or knowledge of

**syn:** disavowal

c.1986, 2007 The Jim Henson Company.

LABYRINTH is a trademark of The Jim Henson Company.

Labyrinth characters c.1986 Labyrinth Enterprises.

All rights reserved, but not by me.

All rights are reserved, but not by me. This short story is a work of fiction. All original characters in this story are fictional. Any similarities to actual persons, either living or deceased, are purely coincidental. Permission for the use of the non-original characters and poetry has not been requested by the author or granted by the licensors. This short story was written for your perusal and pleasure. No compensation, either financial or actual, has been collected or requested.

**Plea for Reason:** Happy Spring, everyone! This story is sort of related to Pika-la-Cynique's Here's the Day… found on DeviantArt. Please go to my profile page, scroll down to the banner COMPLETED WORKS and find this story to access the link.

It isn't plagiarism if I give credit. Areas in bold are lifted directly, except for format, from the poem When We Two Parted, by Lord Byron.

* * *

Spring. A time for getting out and renewing yourself. A time for rejoicing in the return of the warm weather. A time for the earth to accept and nurture new life. With the lengthening of the amount of sunlit hours, a chance to spend more time in communion with the Great Outdoors. Spring just does not occur on March 20th. There is a build up, much like a seedling growing out of its protective casing and pushing its way through the loam into the air. Somewhere in the middle of winter, at the beginning of February, stirrings begin. Although there may be snow and ice on the ground, beneath the ground there is activity. The snow and ice are slowly melting and moisturizing the soil, fueling the dormant seeds and coaxing them into growth. On the northern American continent, the locals have a quaint custom of dragging a gopher from its lair to determine if it would see its shadow. For, although Spring will not officially occur for another six weeks, if the groundhog does not see his shadow, then the weather will be fair and Spring-like for the remainder of the season.

Ah, yes, Spring. Or, in other places, it is called Ostara. The midpoint of the Great Wheel of the Year, opposite Samhain. A time of rebirth and renewal. Ostara marks when the GreenMan defeats the HollyKing in their ancient and ongoing battle for domination. But, He has help. For on Imbolc, the people lit great bonfires to coax the Sun God to strengthen Himself and be heartened that the people of the Underground had not forgotten Him. Much like Aboveground, Imbolc is a time for the reawakening of seeds and all things stored for the upcoming growing season. Even ancient creatures are subject to the seasons. Stoic hamadryads start their slow awakening, even while their guardian dryads sleep restfully within the trunks, so that when Ostara is upon them, they have tender leaf buds and shoots to greet it with.

Even the goblins have their rituals tied with the seasons. They know that Ostara cannot be too far behind when the ewes start birthing and giving milk for them to collect. With this first milk, they create a fermented yogurt that will fortify them for the long, cold nights still ahead, now that their ale supplies are dwindling after a brutal winter. When it becomes time to drink the soured beverage, they know that soon enough, the twisting, frail vine that bears the small flowers they prefer to brew as a tea and then ferment to make ale will soon be winding around their windowsills and doorways. The goblins call the vernal equinox 'Hey-it's-okay-to-go-outside-and-not-worry-about-the-fingers-and-toes-turning-blue' time. But, for their king, Ostara has a very different meaning.

* * *

Ensconced in her own thoughts, she walked along the cobbled pathways; backpack nestled neatly between her shoulder blades, holding a small pile of books in her arms. She no longer noticed the red brick, Georgian styled buildings that bordered the enormous central lawn of the modest campus that she attended college for the past three years. The young woman strolled with a purpose, for although she had no more classes for the day, she did want to find a quiet tree to sit beneath on this warm, late March afternoon before she headed back to her dorm room to work on her paper.

"Hey, Sarah!" Gregg called from across the quad. He trotted across the lawn quickly after scooping up his duffle bag from the grass to catch up with the brunette who walked with the distracted air of someone who had accomplished something. She, on the other hand, barely registered the greeting by looking up and granting the upperclassman a smile, after a second's thought. "Busy tomorrow night?"

Sarah maintained the smile as she mentally groaned. Gregg was a nice enough guy, but she thought that she had already discouraged him. 'Besides, isn't he still seeing Aimee?' "Not much. We do have midterm papers due and..."

"Oh, c'mon Sarah! Live a little, will ya," he chided. "Besides this won't last too long, unless you want to stay longer for the bonfire booze-up."

Sarah's brow furrowed, not understanding his reference. Gregg continued as he walked with her in the warmth of the afternoon sun. "Tomorrow night will be the vernal equinox. Spring will be sprung and a bunch of us are going to celebrate. You in?"

"I don't know..." Sarah tried to buy herself time while she thought of a watertight excuse for not wanting to attend a college kegger party.

"Listen, you don't have to stay all that long. We're going to test the theory that you can balance a raw egg on its narrow end at the moment of the equinox. Besides, I told Steve I would get you there."

Her eyes rolled upwards in accompaniment to her put-upon sigh. "You can't be serious!"

"Yeah, I am. Steve's been pestering Aimee to get her to fix him up with you. I'm getting tired of him horning in on my time..."

"Not that!" Sarah interrupted the other English major. "You can balance an egg at any time of the year, if you have the patience to keep trying." She huffed, then continued, "What time is this fiasco supposed to start?"

Gregg's goofy grin of 'I've got her!' spread across his face. "The actual equinox is at 10:02 tomorrow night. We're going to start the party around 9:30 behind the bleachers."

Sarah stalled, "I don't know. I'll see how I'm feeling after I work on that paper Prof wants in..."

"That's great, Sarah. I'll tell Steve. Maybe now he'll leave us alone. Later!" Gregg high stepped backwards before turning around to sprint off to a different building, presumably to a class.

Sarah sighed and clutched her small stack of books closer to her chest. Her fingertips curled around the edges of a slim volume of verses that she had recently purchased. A small smile played around the corner of her mouth with the memory of what lay between its covers.

It started just before Valentine's Day. Faced with yet another year of people pairing off in about two weeks, Sarah felt moody. Angsty would be the word for it, if there were such an adjective. Not that she wanted to be in a relationship, it was just such a rub in the face showing that she was not in one. So, in an effort to forget about the whole thing (and to give herself something to do when she needed to stop looking at her assignments), she turned to her home away from home--the local non-college bookstore. It was one of those large, chain bookstores that held story hour for toddlers and an upscale coffee shop for the mothers. Where people could sit in the aisles and read undisturbed for any given amount of time, and had a large selection of books as far ranging as technical manuals for the medical students and as whimsical as silly poetry for children.

She thought it was just a corollary to Valentine's Day when she wanted some reading material that could be both mindlessly beautiful when she wanted to turn off the brain and perplexingly complex when her brain was working overtime. Sarah found herself being drawn in to the poetry section of the bookstore, the romantic poetry shelf, to be precise. There she found diversity, playfulness, soul-retching, exalting words that spoke to her in all of her moods. The works of Emily Dickenson, Stephen Foster, the Brownings, Byron, Raleigh, and of course, Shakespeare, held both simplicity and depth, depending on her frame of mind. It was an easy choice to settle on a maroon colored anthology of love poems.

Since the beginning of February, that little book had been Sarah's constant companion, much like another burgundy bound book from her past, being pulled out to be perused at any given opportunity. Today, as she unburdened herself of her pack and sat down, her fingers found the sateen ribbon that marked a random page for her to find today's poem for her to reflect upon. Her eyes glanced down upon the title--When We Two Parted. Something within her chest wrenched itself free of its moorings and decided to travel towards the center of the Earth.

When Sarah read the lines, **'Thy vows are all broken, And light is thy fame; I hear thy name spoken, And share in its shame,'** she had to close the book least her tears stain the page. Wasn't light his tool, the way he was able to form those crystals that the light danced within them with her dreams? Didn't he promise her her dreams? Isn't that a broken vow? But, they came at a price, a price that cost him so much, from what she could tell. It was to her shame to hear what happened to him because of her choice.

_'Damn!'_ The puff of air forced by her slamming the covers together shut punctuated her mental swearing. _'How come every time I read from this book I think of **him**?'_ There was nothing romantic going on and getting sweating and dirty running the Labyrinth wasn't at all poetic, and yet...Sarah looked off into the distance that was not obscured, in her vision, by the buildings that surrounded her. 'And _yet, there was a sense of poetic tragedy by the time it was all over, even after the party.'_ The wry crook of her lips was the only indication that her saddened train of thought had ended, followed by a glazed look of confusion, _'But, there was that dance and that song...'_

Sarah shook her head in an effort to clear her confusion, causing her hair to get tangled in the peeling bark of the birch tree. If there was one thing that she learned in college, it was to not accept confusion as a final outcome. She opened the book to continue. By the time she came to the last two lines, Sarah had vowed to herself that her relationship would not end like the poem, with silence and tears--not if she could help it.

* * *

_'Ten to ten,'_ she bit her lip as she flipped the ends of a lock of hair between her fingers in nervous habit. _'This is insanity!'_ Thinking about what her alternatives were for the evening, Sarah decided that trying to recreate that night would be more productive than watching a bunch of people get drunk and attempt to balance eggs on metal bleachers. And, to top it all off, she could not concentrate on anything that required coherent, logical progression thinking patterns since reading Byron yesterday afternoon.

They had unfinished business, she and _**him**_. Sarah hated loose ends; since that time in her life, she became quiet aware of what was said, what was not said, and what was implied. She was sixteen then, and definitely not aware of what **_he_** was implying. Now, at twenty-one, she did not like the idea that she misunderstood what **_he_** was implying and made a decision based on miscommunication. The poem yesterday stirred up the idea that perhaps if she were forthright, _**he**_ would be too.

She would have to see **_him _**again. There was not other way. It wasn't like she could call **_him _**up and ask**_ him_** that way. Nor would the post office deliver a letter to the castle beyond the Goblin City, in the center of the Labyrinth, somewhere in FaireyLand. Besides, how rude would that be? Sarah had a private little smile as she formulated the supposed letter in her head.

_Dear Goblin King;_

_It's been a while since you've last heard from me and I know that we didn't part on such good terms, but I was preoccupied then and wasn't really focused on our conversation._

_I'm older now, and I was thinking back to that time--that moment. I just want to let you know that I'm ready now, for that relationship, if the offer still stands._

_Love,_

_Sarah_

No, that wouldn't do at all. She stopped her pacing of the utilitarian dorm room. The lighting was uneven due to the fact that only her desk lamp was turned on and there was no overhead light fixture. She was lucky enough to have landed a private room; the trade-off was that it was hardly six feet wide and just a bit deeper. She did have a window that was now open to the cool night air, opposite the door, but it was probably only placed there to accommodate the fire code. However, she made do with what she had; keeping her bed and desk on opposite walls, a locker-style armoire that held her clothes standing in the corner near the window. Textbooks cluttered the top of the closet, with only the well-used reference materials left for the desktop. Her desk doubled as a vanity with a large mirror propped up on the wall--a picture from the summer of Toby and her trapped behind a corner of it.

She looked at that picture now, remembering why she made her decision. Now, Toby was safe; a rambunctious six-year-old in first grade who loved nothing more than when his sister came home to play with just him. There was no child to rescue, no journey to undertake--only the desire to see if there was something there and maybe explore new possibilities.

"Oh-h-h-h...I wish there was an easy way about this!" Sarah wailed to no one in particular. She pushed up her sweatshirt sleeve again to check the time. Five to ten. What was she waiting for? Suddenly, a glint entered her field of vision. On her desk, which was clear save for a couple of pencils and an erasure, was an orb. An orb full of light that it did not need the lamp that was seemingly focused on it. Sarah watched dumbfounded as a reflection of a feather drifted down and land in front of the orb, outside of the mirror.

Taking the two steps to stand next to her desk, Sarah palmed the sphere, mesmerized by its appearance. She glanced up into the mirror, not sure what to expect. Gazing into the transparent crystal, she did the only thing that seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

"I wish Jareth, the Goblin King, was here. Right now."

She did not even realize when the desk lamp winked out; she was so enchanted by the glowing crystal in her hand. It was not so much as an audible sound as it was a 'pop' of air pressure within her ears that she felt that broke her reverie. Not knowing where to look, she kept her eyes focused on the object she was holding. She sensed a body nearly brush past her, just as she caught, from the corner of her eye, a pale, gloved hand reach for the feather on her desk.

Sarah turned around and took in the presence of her guest. He looked exactly the same as when she last saw him five years ago--hauntingly beautiful, with a haunted expression gracing his face. The thin, bony spine of the collar of his cloak was lost within his pale hair. An outfit that seemed so very natural on him, but would never work on any other guy. She allowed her brain to gape at what her peripheral vision saw as she gathered her breath in preparation to speak. For some, strange, unknown reason, she found herself trying to calm her pounding heart and racing blood as she collected herself and her thoughts. "You...you came."

"What did you expect, Sarah?" He brushed past her, the plumage of his cape making contact with the back of her hand. Was that her imagination, or did she see a glittering of pale strands trail after him, clinging to her fingers momentarily before floating to the floor? "As long as you fulfill the requirements, the magick binds me to be your slave."

Fueled by her puzzled expression, Jareth continued. "I said that if you were to fear me, love me, and do as I say, I would be your slave." He turned to face her, the entry to the room now at his back and his arms akimbo, and the feather forgotten in his fingers. "It is quite obvious that you've not gotten over your fear of me and I did send you that crystal in the hopes that you would summon me. That leaves only one factor that might have altered."

"Ah...yeah." Her arm dropped to her side, removing the object of focus from her line of sight. She still held onto the orb, though. Her other hand absently played with her hair. Jareth inclined his head, a smile on his lips as he waited patiently for Sarah to continue. "Well, I'm not saying that I love you. Geesh, I barely know you!" She laughed nervously here, hoping to elicit some other response than that nerve racking, pleasant smile. "What I'm trying to say is...Hell, I'm not sure how to say it." Now the lower lip was being chewed upon. Taking a deep breath, she pressed on, "What I trying to say is, I'm sorry that things ended the way they did and that...magic spell...left me confused. Things are different now--I'm older--and I think I know what you were trying to say then. What I want to tell you is that," she took another deep breath here as made firm eye contact with him, "I'm ready to explore that avenue, that is, if you are still willing to offer it to me."

There, it was said. Sarah held her breath, not sure how her proposition was being considered. It did not look good from where she was standing. Jareth, with his head still inclined elegantly, closed his eyes. By the light of the waxing moon, she could see the shadows play across his face, but was unsure how to read his expressions.

He placed a hand to his smooth forehead, as if to stave off a headache. With disgust, he pulled it away and inspected it before wiggling his fingers as if to dislodge something that was there. That looked remained on his face as he strode past Sarah. Sarah turned around to watch him cross the room and stand in front of the window, his hands on the sill as he leaned forward to take in the night. "It is all in the timing, is it not? The world rotating, tilting, aging? When you first called upon me and my goblins, you were too young. Now, you are prepared." Here Jareth turned to face Sarah, the light framing him, causing the edges of his hair to glow as a halo. "Tell me, Sarah, is it now Ostara?"

"Ostara?"

"Yes, the time for rebirth and growth." Jareth answered her, irritation coloring his tone.

Taken aback, Sarah replied before checking her wristwatch, "Oh, Ostara. I guess you mean Spring." Ten oh four. "Yeah, I suppose it is."

"As it is in my world as well." He closed the distance between the two and gazed into her face. Such innocence, so open; it was a breath of fresh air after being locked indoors all Samhain and Yule. Jareth drank in her essence as if she were a vessel containing the first pressing of a new wine, savoring the bouquet and color that was Sarah. "Precious, there is nothing more I would rather do than to explore that avenue with you. Unfortunately, the timing..."

Sarah interrupted him here by placing a hand upon his chest. She could feel his heartbeat through the silk shirt and his breath quickened with the contact. "What's wrong with the timing? It's Spring. Shouldn't love be in the air?"

Jareth grasped her fingers that resided over his heart and brought them to his lips. He kissed them fervently before releasing them. Sarah was amazed to find her hand that had been upon him was full of feathers. Soft, downy, white feathers, the kind that stick to your hair and float effortlessly on the breeze. She looked between the feathers in one hand and the orb in the other before she raised her eyes to Jareth, who was now standing in the window again. His reply was sorrowful and apologetic.

"I'm molting."

* * *

**Author's Note:** My thanks goes to PaisleyRose for understanding the humour in this piece without it having to be explained. At least I'm not alone in my weird insanity.

I've done it for you. Now, please return the favor. Review. Thank you.


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